Me, I'm Not
by Haunted Obsidian
Summary: Contrary to popular belief, Sam didn't come back the same. Set just after S2. Dark themes; Dark! and Possessive! Sam, eating disorder theme, disturbing imagery.


**Me, I'm Not**

**SPN One-shot**

**Warnings : Dark! Sam, Possessive! Sam, Eating disorder theme**

**Disclaimer : Don't own 'em, but thanks to some prompts I saw on LJ, I'm gonna play with 'em.**

Sam watched Dean stumble into the room, stopping to catch his balance on the wooden motel table. His older brother was dizzy and probably seeing double, but it wasn't due to alcohol or booze at all. Sam continued to observe him, watching him comfortably in the darkness from his bed, a small grin curving up the corners of his lips. Even in the lack of light, he could still see the shadows on Dean's face, the moonlight carefully highlighting both too-prominent cheekbones and his sunken eyes. The bruised skin underneath them looked almost black, and he looked so tired, worn; and Sam relished every minute of it.

His heart started to pound faster when he saw how loosely the clothes hung on his older brother's much too thin frame. The hoodie was Sam's and would have been too large on Dean anyway, but after he'd lost weight, he was practically swimming in it. Sam watched him slowly unzip it, panting breathlessly as he did so. There was another long-sleeved shirt underneath that one, and it also was far too big for Dean.

"How far did you go?" Sam's deep voice cut through the otherwise quiet room. He didn't move from his spot, content to keep his eyes on his older brother for the time being. His smile widened when he saw Dean jump at his words and his breath get caught in his throat.

"Ten, maybe twelve, then I turned back around," Dean answered, his voice sounding gravelly and worn. He was still leaning on the table, though his back was mostly to Sam, giving the younger hunter full view of the bones that were quite noticeable through the two layers of shirts his brother was wearing. Even from his vantage point, he could still count his brother's ribs and the vertebra of his spine.

"Good. That's good, Dean. But maybe tomorrow you should try farther." His white teeth peeked through his lips when he saw Dean's muscles tense underneath his clothing.

"Yeah," was all he said as he stood up and went over to the mini-fridge, cracking open the door. His hand hesitantly hovered over a bottle of beer.

Sam _tsked tsked_, casting a hand in front of his eyes as the fridge's light hit him. "Only water. You know that."

"Right," Dean mumbled, and grabbed a bottle, downing the whole thing in five seconds flat.

"Come here," Sam ordered, sitting up now.

Dean set the empty water container on the nearby counter, not yet making a move.

"I said _come here,_" Sam repeated, sounding none too pleased with his brother's reluctance. The look of anger gradually faded as he watched Dean obey his command and come to stand at his bedside. "Take off your shirts." The corner of his mouth curved up again, and he could feel his lips twitch at his brother's reaction. He almost couldn't contain the dangerous laugh that was going to emanate from his throat as he watched Dean's adam's apple bob up and down with fear as the older hunter swallowed thickly, the hallows of his neck and collarbone becoming all too apparent as he sucked in a gulp of air. "_Do it!"_ he barked, eyes twinkling when he saw his brother jump.

Dean took them off one at a time like he usually did, hating what was coming.

Sam had made sure the curtains were pulled apart just enough and that Dean was standing by a window, so that the moonlight would be sufficient enough for him to see. And see, he did.

Dean stood there, unable to look his younger brother in the eyes. Instead, he stared ahead at the door, green eyes unfocused and weary.

Sam soaked it all up and reveled at his brother's rail-thin form. Dean's skin was pale from lack of sun, the golden tan he used to have gone and vanished, taking his last bit of self-esteem with it. His freckles looked like tiny black dots, scattered across his body. His ribs were so visible they looked like rungs on a ladder, his waist thin, much, much too thin. His sweatpants hung low, hip bones sharp and jutting through his flesh. Sam could see his brother's heart beat underneath his skin, the little _thump_ _thump _jumping in his throat.

The smile stayed on the younger man's face, even though there were watery tears starting to swim in his older brother's eyes. It grew the slightest bit wider when he one of them escape, racing down Dean's cheek and dropping to the floor.

"Turn around," Sam ordered, his voice never faltering, gaze steady and beaming.

Dean sniffed lightly and did as he was told, an involuntary shiver wracking his skinny frame.

The moonlight did nothing but highlight the scars that crisscrossed over his pale flesh, and his shoulder blades that seemed to stick out too far, not enough meat in between skin and bone.

His spine was still visible, even though he was no longer leaning over.

Sam relished in his creation, slowly raising up and coming to a sitting position on the bed. He swung his legs over the side of the mattress and stood, not wasting any time before he reached out, hand brushing up against his brother's cool-to-the-touch skin.

He ran his fingers up and down the ridges of Dean's spine, not missing the visible tensing of his back and the quickening breaths tumbling from his lips. Sam bit his bottom lip and let his fingers stray to his sides, nails lightly gracing the bones, letting them slide down each rib carefully, one at a time.

He let out a short, low laugh, wrapping his hand around Dean's left bicep, unsurprised that his long fingers nearly encased the limb. Wordlessly, he pulled his brother into the small bathroom, feeling only the slightest resistance on Dean's end. He flipped the light switch on then bent down, scooting the scale he kept with them from the corner of the room into the middle of it. His hand slid off of Dean's arm.

"Get on," he instructed, blue eyes gleaming dangerously in the dim light.

Dean stared at him for a moment, his eyes pleading silently, but Sam didn't grant him a pardon. Instead, his brother's brow narrowed, and he knew better than to not listen. He took a breath and stepped up on the black digital reader, the red numbers going up, hovering for a moment before they stopped on 123.2.

"I'm so proud of you, Dean. So proud. Just a little further to go. Then you'll be perfect. Not there yet though." Sam's voice was smooth and deep as he spoke, the grin on his face never fading. He stared at his brother through the mirror, watching as Dean breathed, his ribs more visible each time he sucked in air. "We just have to get rid of a little more," Sam murmured, hands meeting Dean's body again, sliding them down to the smooth skin of his sides to his waist. "This little bit right here," he said, pinching nothing but skin on his stomach. Sam's smile widened when he saw his brother flinch ever so slightly, lips quivering all the while. "That's all."

Dean turned his head away from his reflection and nodded, another tear escaping from the closely confined prison of his tear ducts.

"Take a shower, then come to bed."

Dean nodded again, but kept his eyes to the floor.

Sam's fingers scraped across his cheek, wiping away the tear tracks before exiting the room. He returned to his position on the bed and waited for Dean to finish. The door opened ten minutes later, the light turning off as Dean came out, closing the door behind him. He had a towel wrapped around his waist, though he still had to hold it up to keep it from falling.

"Just pants, then come here," Sam's voice cut through the silence. He watched as Dean pulled a clean pair of sweatpants from his duffel and slid them on, and even though he drew the drawstring on them as tight as he could, they still threatened to fall. He quietly made his over to the bed, Sam pulling down the covers so he could get in. Without a word, he slid under them and turned on his side facing away from his brother, Sam immediately wrapping his arms around him protectively.

"Goodnight, Dean. Love you," he whispered in his ear.

Dean didn't respond. He shut his eyes tight, telling himself that the deal was worth it. He still had Sam, even if he wasn't the same. Or rather, Sam had him, for the next eight months at least.

_Fin_

**A/N- Never quite written anything like this before. Just saw a few prompts on LJ and couldn't help myself. So, yeah. Hope you enjoyed it ;)**


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